


Breakfast

by Diary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bechdel Test Fail, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Percy Weasley, Family, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, Gay Oliver Wood, Late Night Conversations, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Oliver Wood, POV Queer Character, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost. He quickly discovers the resistance has no official name, and though everyone acknowledges Percy’s leadership, there aren’t official positions, either. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.

“Someday, you’re going to fix me breakfast,” Oliver murmurs.

“You’re perfectly capable of fixing your own breakfast,” Percy retorts while slipping on his glasses.

Oliver stays in bed and watches Percy try to gather his clothes.

“Oh,” Percy eventually says. He stills and glances over.

Oliver nods.

“See you around, Wood,” Percy simply says.

…

Oliver has good instincts about people, even if he generally prefers Quidditch to other humans.

He’ll admit, he might not have the best instincts when it comes to Percy.

When he first met Percy Weasley, Percy was a small, freckle-faced ginger who once lectured some older, pureblood Slytherins on how tactically deficient the Dark Lord was.

His mam liked the Weasleys. She told him they were responsible for helping to bring Alice Wood-Longbottom, a distant kin of theirs, home; it’d been too late to save her sanity, but at least, her mother-in-law and the others had the peace of knowing she was now safe.

This combined with everyone knowing of Arthur Weasley’s protective affection for muggles had Oliver mostly convinced Percy Weasley’s point was, if an eleven-year-old could think of more effective ways to bring the Wizarding world to its knees than the dark wizard actually planning to do so, then, the side of good had nothing to truly fear.

The other option where Percy agreed with the Dark Lord’s thoughts but found him and his methods wanting wasn’t pleasant, especially since they slept right near one another in the dorms.

After the first year, Percy became a bit more normal. He still lectured, blinked owlishly, and knew some scary magic, but the vaguely frowning boy who disdainfully talked about ill-thought-out strategies leaving survivors and wondering why using the torture curse on wee kids to insure adult compliance wasn’t utilised was gone.

So, he’ll admit, his instincts when it comes to Percy have never done him much good. It took Percy breaking into his flat when he (Oliver) was nineteen to finally decide Percy was on the side of good, and he’s aware how this would sound if he said it aloud.

Even acknowledging this, Oliver is confident he’s right. Assuming the war doesn’t kill one or both of them, he’s eventually going to spend the night in Percy’s bed, and in the morning, Percy’s going to make him breakfast. Percy is going to be dragged to Oliver’s weekly Sunday dinner with his parents.

And assuming Percy doesn’t just up and announce they’re getting married while handing Oliver a long scroll of reasons why it’s a good idea, Oliver’s eventually going to get his granda’s ring and get down on bended knee.

…

**Past**

Oliver isn’t surprised when he enters the locker room to find Seeker Dolly Troy determinedly ignoring the uneasy glares of all the others.

She’s muggle-born and has been warned by several different people someone is after her.

He wonders if their coach is currently in agonising pain, but instead of asking, all he says is, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Rich coming from you, Wood.”

“You’ll be taken.”

“Aye, most likely,” she agrees. “What about you, if you had everyone against ya, would you go into hiding, or would you play as many games as you could, as best you could?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Piss on them,” is her succinct reply. “They may take me while I’m up there. Don’t you dare let that affect your game. Any of you,” she adds. “You do, and so help me, you better hope I never get free, ‘cause, I’ll bloody end you.”

…

A shiver goes down Oliver’s spine when he mounts his broom, but he tells himself to focus on the game.

In the air, he sees Dolly and the Harpies’ seeker, Padma Greenwich, talking with Chaser Denise Garcia nearby.  The seekers clasp one another’s wrists, and Chaser Garcia points her wand and causes a brief string of white light to wrap around the two arms.

Once the two Harpies have flown away, he flies over to Dolly. “What was that about?”

“Unbreakable vow,” she answers. “This might be my last game, and if I win, it’ll be because I was legitimately the best, yeah? Hate to lose, but better than not knowing if I really was good enough or not.”

“You’re mad,” he mutters.

Going to his spot, he sighs and tries putting everything out of his mind: The fact he may never see his teammate again, the fact his brother might end up getting their parents targeted, and all the names, especially the recognisable ones, of the fallen he’s read in the newspaper.

Chaser Lela Grimaldi being particularly brutal helps.

Pressing as hard as he can with his left hand, he calls “Oi! The nose, really?”

Shrugging, she flies low when Beaters Thomas and Harrington both get near her.

Thirty minutes in and what he suspects to be a broken ankle later, he sees both Dolly and Greenwich spot the snitch.

“Mia, Michael, come,” Dolly hollers.

Greenwich does the same for her beaters.

While he tries to keep Grimaldi from scoring, he watches the others from the corner of his eye. The two seekers are essentially cornered in, and he expects them to mutually agree to back off for the time.

However, Dolly shocks him by carefully standing up on her broom. While everyone is trying to figure out what she’s playing at, she jumps towards Thomas and Harrington, and they catch her by the arms and fling her towards the snitch. Before anyone can react, she’s wrapped her hands around it and is whistling for her broom.

“Seeker Troy has caught the snitch! Puddlemere wins by…”

As Dolly’s falling through the air, her broom zooms over, and she manages to plant her feet on it and only wobble slightly as she triumphantly holds the snitch above her head.

Seeker Greenwich goes over to help her land, and as Oliver starts to fly down, he feels a sinking feeling in his stomach.

A second later, he finds himself on the ground with pain chorusing through his body and hears shouts of anger and panic.

He carefully stands up, tries to get his bearings, and vaguely realises he has neither his broom nor wand.

Shadowy figures are trying to take a limp Dolly, and the Harpies are trying to extract her. He sees some of his team are trying to make their way over and realises they’re either unable or hesitant to fling any spells. He sways and has to stop or risk losing consciousness, and he sees one of the shadowy figures slam Greenwich against a wall to get her off their back.

Seeing her starting to bleed from the mouth and nose while her eyes go glassy almost makes him fall, but he barrels on, grabs a nearby bludger, and tries to throw it.

Grimaldi has a firm hand around Dolly’s arm, and he watches in detached horror as the arm attached to the hand is suddenly severed. A loud shriek of pain fills the air.

A light blinds him, and he loses the fight to stay conscious.

…

He wakes up at St. Mungo’s.

“No one knows who took her,” Coach Lincoln tells him. “If it’s the ministry, they’re not copping to it, and if it was the Dark Lord, he hasn’t been bragging about it.”

“What about the others? Seeker Greenwich and Chaser Grimaldi?”

“Everyone is still alive,” Coach Lincoln answers. “But you were one of the lucky ones, Wood, with your few broken bones and that nasty stunning spell. Greenwich is alive, but mentally- Well, she has moments of lucidity, but her memory’s wonky, and she couldn’t do simple maths. Grimaldi’s a bit better, but she might never play again. Her arm should be fine for normal use, but that severing charm they used, it was specially designed to permanently alter the nerves. Michael’s spine was broken, and we’re all hoping he’ll be able to play next year, but it came dangerously close to his neck. He’s benched for the rest of the season, at least.”

Sighing, he brings his hand up to his head and winces. “What about Dolly’s family?”

“No one knows.”

…

When he’s released, he goes to Dolly’s locker.

Inside is a non-moving picture of her parents, her two sisters and brother, and several nieces and nephews. A necklace and pair of earrings float in place above her regular clothes. There’s a newspaper clipping announcing her recruitment to Puddlemere. Finally, there’s a snitch, and when he looks at it, it floats up and zooms over.

Reaching over, he examines it and quickly realises it’s the first snitch she caught during a Hogwarts match. He remembers it wasn’t until her fourth match she managed to.

Feeling a brief tinge of guilt, he nevertheless pockets it.

…

“Evening, Wood. I apologise for breaking into your flat. Some people are very interested in you.”

“Right,” Oliver says.

After what happened at the match, finding Percy Weasley sitting on his couch is surprisingly easy to process. The brief idea of drawing his wand or using his broom and the bludger he’s carrying is quickly discarded. “Evening, Weasley. Some people are interested in me, and so, you’ve broke into my flat?”

Percy gives him a rather annoyed, vaguely suspicious look. “If I were a dark wizard, you’d already be dead or captured.”

“Right,” he says, and he’s aware he needs to be careful not to make a habit out of that particular word. “Only, whether you read the sports section or not, you’d know about what happened last week. I went to school with you, and no offence, but you were a creepy bugger during our first year. I reckon if you’re dark, it’ll be best to put up as least resistance as possible and die as quick and painless as possible. I don’t have any information worth having, but my parents are clear on their loyalties, and we both know Davie could piss off anyone, no matter their side.”

Percy continues staring at him.

“It alright if I put my stuff up?”

…

He’s taken to a different flat where a voice on the other side inquires, “Fire tonight?”

“Possibly, I’ve got the wood,” Percy answers.

Inside, he immediately finds himself being hugged. “Good to see you, Ollie. I knew it was a good idea to bring you in.”

He automatically recognises the voice and scent and returns the hug. “Alicia.”

Once she lets go, he gets a good look at her. She’s still the same, though, she looks more tired than he can ever remember seeing. “Did you get my graduation owl?”

“I loved it,” she answers. “Why don’t you and I talk privately?”

He nods and lets her lead him to a room as his eyes scan the faces of the people. Some he recognises from Hogwarts, some are ministry employees, and some he could swear are death eaters.

Percy, he sees, is talking to a short goblin.

Once the door’s closed, she assures him, “Those death eaters you saw are ours. Spies.”

“What’s going on, Alicia?”

She sits and motions for him to do the same. “Percy, has realised what a cow Umbridge is. With the ministry admitting You-Know-Who’s return, he’s decided to start a resistance. We try to cripple the Dark Lord’s army from within and warn and protect those targeted, mostly non-human Beings.”

“What about the Order of the Phoenix?”

Shrugging, she answers, “They don’t focus much on non-human Beings.” Sighing, she continues, “I have a great deal of deal of respect for Professor Dumbledore. I wouldn’t have joined under his name if I didn’t. But Percy’s not wrong that there are some questionable parts of his past, and the Order is mostly focused on whatever he thinks is best.”

“Why me?”

“I saw the pictures taken,” she answers. He realises she’s referring to the end of the match. “My grandmother says that, when war comes, everyone has a moment when they realise whether they’re a fighter or not, and I saw yours.”

“I’ll join,” he says.

…

He quickly discovers the resistance has no official name, and though everyone acknowledges Percy’s leadership, there aren’t official positions, either.

His life quickly settles into practise, matches, and meetings.

One night while he and Percy are picking up an order from a nearby muggle restaurant, he says, “I thought Dolly being taken was due to her being muggle-born. But muggle-borns don’t seem to be in any more danger than anyone is.”

“They will be, eventually,” Percy answers. “Right now, You-Know-Who is getting people comfortable, for lack of a better word. He’s instilling terror, but he’s mainly going after non-human Beings, beasts such as merpeople and centaurs, muggles, and visible troublemakers. It gives the illusion that quiet compliance will keep the muggle-borns, half-bloods, private blood traitors, etcetera safe.”

“Seeker Troy was abducted partly because routinely sang Harry Potter’s praises for the world to hear. The other part is that she did have measures in place to protect herself, but she made the choice to risk everything that day. Either way, she might have never gotten another chance to play in a professional match.”

“I reckon you think she had her priorities all mixed,” Oliver comments.

Percy hands over the muggle money to the cashier, and they leave. “No, I don’t. I understand where she was coming from.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t drop the food.

Unthankfully, he’s well aware of his continued gaping.

“Do you think you could transport someone over international airs undetected,” Percy inquires.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Fair warning, it’s likely to be damn unpleasant for them, but I can do it.”

…

He finds himself curious about Percy.

The disdainful, vaguely frowning boy has been replaced with a scowling, exasperated man. Percy’s even less inclined to excuse the stupidity of death eaters now than when he was eleven.

Sometimes, Oliver feels the urge to say, ‘Mate, you do realise that the more incompetent they are, the easier it makes our job, right?’

Aside from this, however, Percy is- quiet.

In school, he never talked without permission in class, but only people who were rarely around him would describe him as quiet. He always had an opinion, was explaining something to someone, or just muttering while he worked.

When they’re waiting for a hag he’s going to help transport, he finds himself asking, “You said you understood where Dolly was coming from. What did you mean?”

Percy looks over in surprise. “Quite a memory you’ve got, Wood.”

“Have to in order to remember plays and strategies,” he answers. 

In response, Percy gives him a look he often saw on McGonagall’s face. “In answer to your question, the reason my family and I are estranged is due to a choice I made. It wasn’t one I made lightly, and there have been severe consequences to it.”

“Was it the right one?”

“I don’t believe that can ever be adequately answered.”

Oliver remembers the look on Dolly’s face when she caught the snitch. He remembers the newspaper clipping and placing her old Hogwarts snitch in his vault with a letter explaining, in the event of his death, it should go to any surviving member of the Troy family who had knowledge of the magical world.

 _Piss on them_ , she’d said.

He loves his parents more than anything, but he’s known Quidditch was his calling since he was two or three and saw the older neighbour kids practising on their broomsticks. He’d make the same choice if he were in Dolly’s position.

“I’m sorry about your family,” he offers.

Percy tenses. “I’m aware of everyone’s opinion on the matter.”

“Weasley, I don’t have an opinion,” he replies. “I liked your brothers, especially the twins, except when I wanted to kill them, and your parents seemed okay, if lacking in priorities. You’ve always been a bit scary. But that doesn’t automatically mean they were in the right, yeah?”

“How am I scary?”

Before Oliver can answer, the hag shows up with a crup in tow.

…

Sighing, Oliver sets his fork down. “What’s Davie done this time?”

“Oi,” Davie calls him something which would have gotten his mouth washed when he was younger, “I’m sitting right here!”

“David Wood, you will not use that sort of language,” their father snaps.

“Oliver,” their mum says with a sigh, “this is about you, my darling.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he protests.

“’Course not,” Davie mutters.

“How are my nephews doing,” Oliver retorts.

Davie’s had babies with three women. He suspects his brother has gotten more than just three women pregnant, though, and he desperately hopes they terminated rather than having the baby without telling Davie. He hopes this for his parent’s sake rather than Davie’s, because he knows them finding out a grandchild has been growing up without them being part of his or her life would be an extremely painful thing for them to go through.

It’s a sore subject, especially because Davie doesn’t have much interest in his sons. Their parents and Oliver are the ones who send money, toys, and clothes to the women. Their parents are the ones have pictures of the babies on their walls.

“Honey, are you part of the Order of the Phoenix?”

“No,” he answers. “What? Where in the bloody hell did that come from?”

“Oliver,” his father warns.

“You haven’t been getting enough sleep, you’re sorer than usual, and when you’re not at practise, we never know where you are,” his mam says. “Oliver, baby boy, you’re an adult, and you’re not required to tell us anything. But we worry so much about you. Not because of Davie,” she adds.

“Hey!”

“You aren’t like your brother, Oliver. We don’t have to worry about you in the same way we do him, but we do worry about both of you.”

“At least, I know how to live,” Davie mutters.

Ignoring him, Oliver looks down at his plate.

He’s allowed to tell his parents, but he hasn’t. He’ll admit he was half hoping to get through the war without them knowing.

“I’ll talk to you two,” he says, “but not Davie.”

Davie, he’s sure, will find a way to compromise the whole operation, no matter how careful and vague Oliver is. Percy’s enchantments to keep anyone from revealing sensitive information have nothing on Davie’s ability to constantly cause trouble for himself, his family, and everyone within a short radius of him.

…

“Hey, Weasley, can I talk to you?”

Percy looks even more frazzled than usual, and Oliver almost tells him it can wait.

“Yes,” Percy answers. He motions for Oliver to follow. “We need a healer,” he continues. “Bell was lucky to get out. The Order is mucking things up by attacking death eater gatherings. It’s just going to put innocent people in the crossfire.”

“I thought the Order-”

“Well, with Dumbledore being completely unreachable for long periods of time, different methods and boundaries are being tested.”

“Is he okay?”

“He got out in time, but if someone is seriously hurt, it might not be safe to take them to St Mungo’s.” Sighing, Percy sits down. “But it isn’t your job to worry about this. What can I do for you, Wood?”

“I’ve told my parents. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Davie.”

“There’s no reason why-”

“Trust me, if I told Davie, that would be a sign I shouldn’t be here.”

“How did your parents take it?”

“They’re worried,” he answers. “Dad’s taking it especially hard, but they’re trying to be supportive.”

“Good. If there’s anything I can do, tell me.”

“Thanks,” he says.

He glances over and is suddenly struck by the fact Percy is a good-looking bloke. Sighing, he leans back and wishes an interest in finding someone had happened when he was still in school.

“Does anyone in your family know?”

“No,” Percy answers. “I thought of telling Mum, but I have no idea how she’d react. She and Dad are members, you know.”

“Well,” he says, and he’s aware of his need to tread carefully, “it’s no secret I hate my brother. Things aren’t like that for you, but if you want to talk, I can listen, at least.”

“Thank you.” Percy hesitates for a moment. “I am sincere in my offer.”

…

He’s riding his broom with a centaur and a goblin in the expandable picnic basket attached to said broom when he feels a cold feeling of dread go through him.

Everyone has repeatedly told him, if he ever gets such a strong feeling, he’s to retreat. Percy even made him write lines with a blood quill to the effect, despite him pointing out part of Quidditch is having sharp instincts and following them.

In response, Percy had brought up the time he broke into Oliver’s flat.

Oliver’s given up on explaining why he reacted the way he did and has accepted the fact he’s likely never going to hear the end of it.

Sighing, he starts to turn around. A flash of red to hits him square in the arm, and he brings his free hand up and bites on his palm to keep from swaying.

Unfortunately, he almost loses his balance, and he finds himself hanging from his ankles.

Focus, he tells himself. He concentrates on turning the broom around. This is bigger than Quidditch, but the pain isn’t.

Recalling the time he broke eight bones and got two bloody eyes, he breathes in and out, mentally concentrates on keeping the broom going in the right direction, and hopes the anti-detection charms hold.

More hexes fly past, and he keeps moving. It’s harder to hit a moving target, even one that’s drifting rather than actually flying, he knows.

A dizzying rush of relief wipes over him when he finally approaches the flat. Closing his eyes, he uses all his will to get the broom to gently lower itself down, and he’s unable to stop a bubble of laughter when he feels the cold, hard ground against his back.

Once he manages to crawl to the door with broom trailing behind him, he gasps, “Wood’s been burnt.”

…

Percy comes in.

“Sorry,” Oliver winces.

“You did everything right, Wood,” Percy answers. He sits down. “How are you feeling?”

He uses a few choice descriptors to express fully how badly he feels. “Still, Healer Thompson says I’ll be good enough for my match and for future missions.”

“There’s no leak, or at least, not as far as I can tell. You had bad luck. Alternate methods of transportation are…”

Relaxing as best he can with the still persistent thumping pain, Oliver reclines his head and listens in amusement and admiration.

“Of course, Teller Bornuk is going to lecture me, but I’ll stand by my decision to-”

“Percy, this is a personal question, I know, but why are you in this,” he interrupts. “When I say you were scary, it’s because, you were eleven, and your complaint about death eaters was that their plans weren’t sophisticated and effective enough? Me, I’m not a political bloke, and I don’t have much use for people outside of Quidditch, my parents excepting, but I’ve always been the type to treat people off-the-field the way I want to be treated unless they give me a reason not to, yeah?”

Aware he’s babbling, he nevertheless continues, “I remember the first night I got back from transporting that Squib. I stayed up all night thinking, ‘I saved a life. I actually helped save a life.’ I know why Alicia and Mark and most of the others do it, but what’s your reason?”

For a long moment, Percy is quiet. Then, he says, “I’ve always wanted to change the world. It’s an amoral goal, neither moral nor immoral in and of itself. It all depends on how a person goes about achieving it. I do have empathy, you know. I love my family deeply. I loved my girlfriend, Penny. There are lines I wouldn’t cross for power. I don’t agree with the Dark Lord’s ideas. There are parts of the ministry I didn’t agree with before all this started, but I believe in what the ministry is supposed to be, and I wanted- still want, in fact- to help it become that.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

“Right,” Percy says, and Oliver’s stuck by how utterly defeated he sounds. “The war is still raging, Oliver.”

The name, his first name by itself, hits him.

Reaching over, he clasps Percy’s wrist, “Hey,” he tugs, “you’re going to change the world, and our side’s going to win, alright? Keep positive.”

“I’m trying,” Percy answers.

Aware this is likely a bad idea but too tired, sore, and confused about his own place in the world to care, Oliver asks, “Would it be alright if I kissed you? Only, I never cared about that sort of thing at Hogwarts, but I think I’m finally learning there’s more to life than the game, and you’ve-”

The feel of Percy’s lips against his cuts him off.

It’s a nice kiss until he moves wrong and lets out a groan of pain.

Percy is across the room at an astounding speed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I- aside from the fact I neither want or am equipped to handle a relationship at the moment, this was the potions and the adrenaline on your part-”

“Percy, unless you want me to try to walk over there, come back, sit down, and let me have my say,” he orders.

After a moment, Percy sits on a nearby chair.

“First of all, the potions are to repair the damage and help numb the pain. They haven’t done anything to my brain,” he says. “Look, I don’t know if I want a relationship, either, and I’m even less qualified than you are. Up ‘til now, a few snogging sessions during my fourth year is all the experience I’ve had. Now, the adrenaline, I reckon you might have a point, but let’s face it, I do most things based on that. If you don’t want it to happen again, it won’t. But don’t beat yourself up, yeah?”

Finally, Percy says, “Just- What if I do want it to happen again?”

“I won’t object,” Oliver says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too eager. “If one of us gets too serious, we can break it off. Getting through this war, helping people, that comes before everything else, doesn’t it?”

…

Oliver’s cutting up tomatoes when Davie announces, “Ah, Ollie’s no longer a virgin.”

“Davie!” Their mam exclaims.

Before Oliver can Crucio his brother, a tiny voice asks, “What’s a virgin?”

Oliver freezes and sees his mother do the same.

“It’s- why don’t we go talk about it.” She picks up his nephew, Bae.

Once they’re gone, Oliver snaps, “If Mira hears about this, she might not let Mam and Dad babysit anymore, and if that happens, they might finally get rid of you for good.”

“It’s about time,” Davie answers with a grin. “Way past, really. Lad or lass?”

“None of your business,” Oliver reports.

 “Will we be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the-”

“Davie, go play with Bae,” their mam orders.

 …

Oliver’s helping with the dishes when his dad says, “Your mam told me about what happened earlier.”

“About how Davie might have made it where Mira might never bring her boy over again?”

“He’s your nephew.”

“I send him, Danny, and Miguel toys. I send their mams money,” he retorts. “I was the one who bought Miguel his first broom. None of which is my responsibility, but that’s what we do when it comes to Davie, isn’t it? We make sacrifices, and you and Mam blame him being raised during a war. I was, too, Da, and I’m fighting in one now. Only a few days ago, I was attacked at midnight and was lucky to get back alive. But I have my own flat, a job, and no babies I’m not ready to support.”

“I’m sorry,” is his dad’s quiet response, and the anger vanishes. “You don’t need to send-”

“It’s not the money or the toys, and I like spending time with them. I just-” he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” his dad repeats. He places a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I know things haven’t always been fair to you, because of him. Your mother and I wish we had done more so that-”

“Dad-”

“It’s the truth. I am sorry, Oliver, that you sometimes had to suffer because of him. Someday, if you have children, you might understand. Whatever Davie does, he’s still our son, and we can’t just not be there for him.”

“Whatever,” Oliver says.

“I’m not asking about what Davie said. But have you found someone?”

“A casual someone,” he answers. “He won’t be coming for dinner anytime soon.”

“As your mam constantly reminds me, you’re a grown man, but for your sake, if not ours, try to make sure you never waste your time. If he’s not nice to others, he’s not a good man. If he’s not nice to you, remember that your mam and I love you and you deserve someone who loves you just as much. If he ever hurts you, it’s not your fault, and you need to try to leave. We’ll always be there for you, Oliver.”

“Dad-”

“I gave this speech to Davie-”

“With my three nephews, I don’t reckon Davie-”

“Obviously, I used different pronouns. Now, I gave the same speech to Davie, though, maybe, in his case, I should have given it to his girlfriends, and I’m giving it to you. It’s important for you to know this. And finally, wizards can get infected with certain things, too. Whatever you are or aren’t doing, with a man or woman, with someone magical or muggle, make sure you use proper precautions.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he replies.

…

“Who’d you snog at Hogwarts?”

Oliver closes his eyes and feels a rush of pain. “Cedric Diggory,” he answers through the lump in his throat.

“He probably did go strictly for girls,” he continues. Not liking the way Percy’s tensed against him, he squeezes Percy’s arm. “But before he and Cho Chang found each other, he was a bit curious. I didn’t fancy him, but he was something of a mate. So, we snogged a few times, and it was nice enough but never did anything for us.”

“Oh.”

“I- don’t think about him that often,” he confesses. “He was a good person and a damn good player. Even though he was seventeen, I don’t think he died a man, and that’s a bloody shame for everyone. He would have been a good one.”

Percy kisses his chest, and he feels some of the sadness lessening.

“What about you?”

“Penny was my first everything.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

“We were perfect together,” Percy answers. “Except, of course, for the fact we weren’t in love. I loved her, she loved me, and neither of us was in love.”

“Sounds like a good reason to end things,” he offers.

A patronus appears through the wall and gallops over, and they both sigh.

…

“Careful,” Alicia warns. “Percy’s on the warpath.”

“I am not on the warpath,” Percy snaps. “Where’s my quill?”

“Percy,” Alicia says, “if you write a scathing proposal, that’s going to give you away. I know you hate Umbridge. We all hate Umbridge. But use some of your legendary sense.”

Reaching over, Oliver leads Percy into another room and shuts the door. He puts a silencing charm up. “What’s going on, Perce?”

“Muggle-born Registration,” Percy practically spits. “There’s a bill, and by this summer, it’s going to pass. If it does, we need to figure out how to start forging genealogy maps and teaching regular people how to lie. I don’t know what’s going to happen to my father. Of course, he’s going to be stupid and rail against this in the most unsubtle way possible. I don’t know what’s going to happen to any of them. The people who want this hate the twins, and Ginny’s almost to an age where her defiant nature can no longer be ignored.”

“Well, how do we go about forging genealogy maps?”

Sighing, Percy sits down. “Harry Potter is an idiot. Damn moral integrity, I gave him the perfect opportunity to start slowly changing how the ministry operates, and he refused to take it. Figureheads can be more, if they say the right thing to the right people.”

“Maybe, you could talk to your mum,” he suggests. He’s aware Percy usually just prefers people to ignore it when he brings up the other Weasleys, and he’s normally happy to oblige. “Or I could talk to one of them. The twins and I have always gotten along decently.”

“I’m writing the counter.”

“Think that’s really wise? Alicia has a point,” he says. “You do this, and you declare yourself to everyone. ‘Course, if you think it’s time, we’re behind you, but make sure you’re really sure, yeah?”

Letting out a groan, Percy buries his face in his hands.

Moving over, Oliver puts an arm around him. “Anything I can do?”

Taking a breath, Percy looks over at him. “Are you religious?”

“I- suppose so,” he answers. “I mean, I haven’t been to church regular since before Hogwarts, but I believe in God. Not sure about Jesus or the saints, but I- I reckon you could say I’ve always felt a greater presence that goes past magic.”

“Good.” Percy stands up. “You’re going to start going back to church. Try not to let it become a media story. There are always unofficial genealogists when it comes to churches and the like. We need to start identifying and trying to recruit those sympathetic to the cause.”

Percy starts to open the door, changes his mind, comes back over, and surprises Oliver with a kiss. “Thanks, Oliver.”

“No problem,” he answers. A million different feelings, all good, flow through him as he watches Percy stride out.

“Merlin,” he finds himself whispering.

…

Percy strides in with Teller Bornuk and three others following him. “Dumbledore’s fallen.”

Oliver looks at Teller Bornuk. The small goblin is holding the hands of a tentative-looking hag and a sixth year student Oliver vaguely remembers seeing around Hogwarts. She’s a big, strong looking girl, and she’s scowling right at him.

Nearby, an older hag with a blank look on her face is standing protectively behind them.

He stands up. He doesn’t (didn’t?) share Percy’s distrust of Dumbledore, but he doesn’t share most of the wizarding world’s respect, either. He doesn’t think he ever even talked to the man, and he doesn’t know half the things Dumbledore has and hasn’t done. He’s sorry another person is dead, and this is where it ends.

He kneels down in front of the girl and puts his hands up when the older hag makes a barely restrained warning movement towards him. “Hey. I’m Oliver Wood. Slytherin, huh? Don’t worry, me being Gryffindor doesn’t matter. I’ll get you and your mam and grandma to safety. The only one I’ve ever hated is Marcus Flint. You know Seeker Greenwich from the Harpies? She’s something of a mate of mine.”

“There’s a war raging, and boys are only thinking of Quidditch,” she says with her scowl deepening.

“Probably not all boys,” he answers. “Not a Quidditch fan? Well, still applies, I’ll get you and them to safety, I’ll just complain the whole way.”

She rolls her eyes. “You ride a broom and try to hurt people with balls for a living. People crowd together to watch you do it. In real matches, they pay to be squished so that they can watch people on brooms try to injure each other.”

“Technically, as Keeper, I don’t try to try to hurt people. I just try to keep the bludgers from going through hoops.”

“Right, and the Chaser tries to get them past you?”

Nodding, he asks, “Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend on the Quidditch team?”

“No,” she answers and looks down. “There’s- he’s a boy. And he’s not actually- It’s complicated.”

Her mother puts a tentative hand on her shoulder.

Summoning one of Bell’s yearbooks, he asks, “Would you like to show him to me?”

She hesitates, and her grandmother speaks up: “Go with him, Millicent.”

He leads her to a couch, and they sit down. She quickly finds a picture and shows it to him. In it, there’s a first year Slytherin boy; he tall for his age with dark skin, a haircut close to his scalp, and slightly almond-shaped eyes. _Blaise Zabini, Pureblood, age 12_ , the caption reads.

“So, he’s a sixth year, now, too?”

Nodding, she tells him, “He’s taking care of Yumiko, my cat.”

…

When he gets back from delivering the Bulstrode family, he slips onto the couch and puts his arms around Percy. “How are you feeling?”

“The twins sent me a howler.”

Muttering a curse, he says, “Perce- I’m sorry.”

“It’s done,” Percy replies. “How was transport?”

“Successful.” He remembers Mrs Bulstrode’s chattering about her granddaughter. Straight Os, brilliant at charms, never had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, and speaking of, she’d found a nice little recipe for human liver, and didn’t that Zabini boy look like he might have the best liver for the job?

“Another irresponsible family with their daughter likely to end up dead due to their choices,” Percy says.

It shocks Oliver, and when Percy stands up, Oliver asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, as much as I hate to agree with the likes of the Malfoy, there are some compelling arguments against half-breed Beings. Millicent Bulstrode could pass for human, but instead of finding her a wizarding family willing to adopt her, they kept her. At the very least, they should have found a hag colony to accept them. Instead, they stayed in a human village full of villagers that hated them and sent her to Hogwarts. She’s a fighter. She’ll leave, she’ll fight, and she’ll likely die.”

“They’re good people,” Oliver answers. “After dealing with Davie, I have to say I see them differently.”

“You see almost everything differently,” Percy says. He puts the kettle on. “But have you and I ever truly argued?”

“I suppose not,” he answers. “Is that bad?”

“I suppose not,” Percy answers.

…

After being handed his termination notice, Oliver finds himself studying Coach Lincoln.

Finally, he demands, “Ministry or You-Know-Who?”

Coach Lincoln sighs. “You have every right to feel the way you feel, Wood, but-”

“But I’m one of the best damn players you’ve bloody well got,” Oliver snaps. “And I’m no saint. I’ve done things I shouldn’t have done before, and I haven’t always accepted my punishment with grace. Still, I’ve never done anything that would make you go this far, not without-”

He catches a flying picture.

“I have a kid, Wood,” Coach Lincoln declares.

Taking a breath, he studies the picture. A girl with mismatched eyes and an afro plays with a black and white owl. She’s missing two teeth and has what he assumes to be a temporary tattoo on the back of her left hand.

“During the first war, my grandmother was a big supporter of the Dark Lord,” Coach Lincoln continues. “She died in Azkaban. An uncle of mine, on the other hand, made a name for himself by doing horrible things to captured death eaters. He also died in Azkaban. I never met my grandmother, and the only memory I have of my uncle is him giving me a lunascope when I was little. It was at some family party, but I don’t remember what the celebration was or how old I was. I don’t even remember what happened to the lunascope.”

“But that doesn’t matter to either side. The ministry has a file on me, and I can’t say whether they’re watching me or not. The death eaters, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was targeted one day. And on top of all that, I have a centaur somewhere in my family tree.”

Oliver carefully sets the picture down.

“In times of peace, none of this mattered so much. The ministry may have still had a file on me, and living death eaters would have still cursed my family name. But being a good person, obeying the law, and working hard would have let me lead a safe, comfortable life. It would have let me provide that for my little girl. She’s far away, now, but I imagine, if she ever comes back, there will be people too interested in her, too.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry, Wood. You’re a good player, and despite some of your stunts, you’re a good man. But I have a kid, and if I have any hope of someday seeing her again, I have to answer to people I’d rather not answer to.”

“Coach,” Oliver says. He extends his hand.

Standing up and refusing to shake it, Coach Lincoln says, “All it takes is a small number of people, sometimes, even as low as just one, to do something horrible, and then, suddenly, everyone, no matter how innocent, suffers for it. I’m not going to ask, and you aren’t going to tell me, but I get the impression that you’re actively involved in this war. Be careful you know what you’re getting involved in, Wood. There are things that can follow you forever, if you aren’t careful.”

“Coach,” he repeats. He extends his hand further.

Coach Lincoln shakes it. “I’m sorry about this, Wood.”

…

Looking up from the contract, Percy declares, “This isn’t legal.”

“Perce, I’m not sure how to break this to you,” Alicia says, “but we’re not exactly living in lawful times. Sorry, Ollie,” she adds.

He shrugs. “I always knew I’d have to give up professional Quidditch eventually.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do, now,” Alicia asks.

“I’m going to go break the news to me parents, stay until Sunday, and then, on Monday, I’m going to transport some of Bornuk’s colleagues to safety.” 

“He’s risking everything by staying,” Percy grumbles.

“He loves Augusta,” Alicia says.

“Stupid,” is Percy’s succinct, scowling reply.

Oliver reckons the realisation he couldn’t go fully underground while Percy continued risking his life above could probably have come at a better time than this.

“Hey, Percy, want to come over with me? My parents would love to officially meet you.”

“No, thank you, Oliver,” Percy answers. He continues glaring at the contract. “I appreciate the invitation, however.” 

…

The day after he turns twenty, he and Percy spend half the night together.

Percy has to leave at midnight for a meeting with some centaurs, and Oliver has to go to church in the morning to get some new documents.

At 11:45, he finds himself murmuring, “Someday, you’re going to fix me breakfast.”


End file.
